


Night Stockers

by Pteridophyta



Category: Doctor Who, Once Upon a Time (TV), Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard
Genre: Gen, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pteridophyta/pseuds/Pteridophyta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three employees of the supermarket hang out, complain about their Storybrooke names, and uncover a secret that could save or destroy the universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Stockers

Emma Swan, Sheriff of Storybrooke, Maine and Savior of Fairy Tale Land, wasn't having a lot of luck getting information from the grocery store clerks.  
  
"Look," said Emma, "can I talk to the manager?"  
  
"No," they said, more or less in unison and definitely faster than Emma liked.  
  
"Gonna give me a reason for that, or should I save time and get straight to breaking doors in?"  
  
Steve and Scott looked at each other. Scott pushed Steve forward. Steve stepped back and pushed Scott forward.  
  
"Jesus, are you two Marx brothers? Because I do not need that today. You've got five seconds to explain, because I'm already expecting the worst, here."  
  
"There isn't one," said Scott. "I mean, they're not dead or anything."  
  
She took her hand off the holster. "Okay, he's just out sick? Or she?"  
  
"Um, no," said Scott. "There just isn't one."  
  
The hand returned.  
  
Scott continued. "We're just the night stockers. But we've been 'filling in for a couple days' as cashiers and everything for the past twenty eight years, too. Since there aren't any of those either. And there aren't any managers or anything. It's just us and the baker, Colin. But he runs the radio station, too, so he's only here in the mornings.”  
  
"Scott, shut up, you're explaining horribly!" said Steve, stepping forward and shoving Scott back. He rubbed at his face and took a breath. "What he's trying to say is that there aren't any managers or connection to corporate or food supply chains and that our jobs as night stockers are now, essentially, a duty to protect the people of Storybrooke by completely, entirely, and continually failing to mention that their grocery supply is, in fact, nigh-completely dependent on pallets mysteriously appearing every night on the loading dock on the basis that, given the apparent dependence of magic on will and belief and so forth, if enough people realize that it is, in fact, impossible to receive food and power and water from an outside world that has no idea we exist and we have no connection to…" he paused for breath, "that…that it might stop. The food and water and things. Which would be bad. So. Please don't tell people. Or think about it."  
  
Emma looked at them. "I just needed to know if anyone saw anything on Second Street around noon."  
  
"Oh. Um, just Gold talking with Ruby. But it didn't look like they were fighting or anything."  
  
"Ruby? Are you sure? Not Belle?"  
  
"Yeah. Definitely Ruby. The hair's pretty obvious."  
  
"Shit," said Emma, and ran out, leaving the door open behind her.  
  
There was a beat.  
  
She ran back and stuck her head in. "What were your names again? Quickly."  
  
"Scott Rosenberg," said Scott.  
  
"Steve Goldstein," said Steve.  
  
"Gold…? Just, please be serious. I mean, you're obviously Sikh. You've got the turban and the knife thing and everything."  
  
They stared at her.  
  
"You're serious."  
  
They nodded.  
  
"Oh. Sorry. Who were you guys back in the old world, then? What was your, well, story? And I hate that I've reached a point in my life where asking people what fairy tale their life is helps things make more sense."  
  
"We weren't anyone important," said Scott. "Just some people. We had a message to deliver, but it doesn't really matter now. Probably for the best, anyway."  
  
"You had somewhere to go, didn't you?" said Steve. "You seemed in a hurry. One brief scene to establish a twist and then back to running around pointing guns at people?"  
  
She was already gone.  
  
"We missed the plot again, didn't we? It flew past into the distance, hitting us on the head as it went?" said Steve. "That was rhetorical. Close your mouth."  
  
He leaned on the counter and sighed. Scott shoved a display of Tootsie Rolls aside and hopped up next to him.  
  
"I just wish we knew, you know? If we had to worry about it. Not like it even makes a difference for us. Wander around being confused in a confusing world and then the same ending as everyone else. How could we possibly tell the difference? But it feels like there's plot going on. Twists and reveals and chase scenes and epic battles. Not that we're in it. Not that we ever do anything important. Not that we ever do anything at all."  
  
Scott picked up a jumbo Tootsie Roll and considered it. He tossed it to Steve.  
  
"You know what I think, Steve?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think we need to get Colin over here and break into the manager's office."  
  
"Scott?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I think that's an excellent plan."  
  
They split the Tootsie Roll on the walk.


End file.
